


A Traitor Knows Best (That the Universe is Out to Get You)

by EJBEisGay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Anal Sex, Blood, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Don't Like Don't Read, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Not Happy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Painful Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Self-Hatred, Sexual Abuse, Violent Sex, Vomiting, seriously, third chapter is the more violent one but not terrible i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26213494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EJBEisGay/pseuds/EJBEisGay
Summary: It starts in his bedroom, and he doesn't know why. It continues in several other rooms, and he doesn't know why. Later, other people he thought he could trust join in or hurt him on their own as well. Why.Don't like, don't read, don't bash. Thank you.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Lucius Malfoy, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 26
Kudos: 91





	1. Bedroom

**Author's Note:**

> hey this is more of a coping fic because i need to write fucked up shit to cope with things, but i've had a good, cathartic time writing this. also, dont forget!! dead dove.
> 
> drarry will be added wayyy later but it might not have a happy ending. i dont think the fic will have a happy ending at all. i might resort to character death, but that will come so much later as well. and this wont have a posting schedule, ill write for it whenever i need to vent/am inspired. thanks for understanding,
> 
> **Seriously, Don't Like, Don't read, Don't bash. Please don't read this if you've purposefully come here to trigger yourself. Please take care.**

The absolute debilitating pain was the thing that finally made Draco realise what was happening and made him snap out of his head, making reality crash into him almost how he imagined the Crucio curse would feel. Ruthless and unforgiving, making your last shreds of hope that you will survive burn up and turn into ash.

Sweat was dripping down Draco’s back and his eyes were wide and filled with tears, his simple night shirt bunched up to his armpits and his trousers down to his ankles, laying on his front on his bed and barely able to breathe(whether from panic or because he felt like he was being crushed, he didn’t know). He was underneath his father who was currently seething himself inside of his arse painfully slow, he realised, and tried to get away as fast as he could.

But- he couldn’t struggle underneath him. His panicked and wheezing breaths weren’t helping him, and he almost felt like he would pass out and die. That couldn’t happen to him. His father, his amazing and wonderful father, wouldn’t do such a thing. He wou- _wouldn’t hurt his own son like that_. Draco scrabbled at his sheets around him and gripped them so hard he almost teared them, and the only noise he was able to let out was an agonised and pathetic whimper when he realised that it wasn’t just a fucked up fantasy of his he was having. Tears were flowing down his face and snot was starting to drip down to his lips, which were trembling and bitten red and almost bloodied, and he let out a terrified scream when his father suddenly started to thrust into him and built up a fast rhythm right from the beginning.

Every single move inside of him from his father’s cock(which was larger than he expected, and that was something he wished he didn’t know) forcefully pushed out a groan or cry out of Draco, each one rougher and more terrified than the last. There was no lube used, no stretching involved, and he felt like his body would give up entirely and finally stop working from the blinding bolts and waves of pain that were travelling from his arse and up his back, all the way to his head which was starting to hurt.

It hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt so bad, everything hurt so bad, and he was crying harder and he was screaming louder with every thrust, even if eyes felt like they would explode in his head and his throat would close up entirely and never let him breathe or talk or sing or laugh ever again or, or, _or_ -

What hurt most for him, though, was the fact that his body had betrayed him even through the terrible pain. He was hard and leaking against his stomach, and he felt like he would cum with just a wrong move from his father.

He hoped, and he prayed, and he begged whatever deities were out there and whatever angel or devil or any magical beings out there that could hear his screams and pleas, that his father would not realise that he was hard, and he promised- no, _vowed_ \- to become a better person if They spared him and ended his suffering as quickly as They could.

But. 

He realised, in that moment, at the age of 15 years old, that the universe had never really cared about him, and that no entity, however powerful, would ever look towards him and spare him or pity him. Because just a few moments later after his silent praying, his father reached down underneath him and grabbed his cock, squeezing it just on the side of painful, and started to grope it and fondle it.

Draco’s heart and chest ached and burned with unbearable shame when he realised that it- it felt- it was, just. _Good_. It felt good. He seemed to know what to do to make Draco ignore the still-pulsing pain from his father’s cock in his arse, and only seemed to really focus on that aspect then. Draco gasped and whimpered when his father stopped thrusting into him in favour of properly jerking him off, his hips flush with Draco’s own and just grinding as harshly as he could into him.

Each stroke and grind seemed to bring Draco closer to climax, and each time he squeezed his cock hard enough a moan would escape his throat and make his ears burn from the mixture of shame and pleasure. It was awful, he realised, how quickly he gave up from the molten arousal that was building up, and the fact that his tears had stopped falling. It was awful, he realised, how he felt each time his father’s cock twitched inside of him when Draco moaned and tried to struggle away, however weak the effort was, almost as if the fact that _his own son_ was completely helpless underneath him seemed to be- seemed to be _erotic_ for him, somehow.

It was awful, he realised, that he didn’t know how much longer he could take it and not shatter in that moment.

And the universe only mocked him more. And the universe only laughed at him more, only let him die and rot more. Because his father started thrusting into him once again, that time faster and harder, and Draco was able to hear every single groan and huff of pleasure from his father, and he was able to finally process the feelings of lips and teeth against the back of his neck and shoulders, and he felt incredibly, and utterly, marked and violated.

He tried to close his eyes and block everything out. Every single movement, every single sound, every single touch on and in his body. And though he didn’t pray for an escape to some mindless deities that would never answer, he prayed that maybe his mother would intervene and barge in on them, and beat his father to a bloody pulp and maybe even kill him for what he did. He prayed and hoped and hoped and hoped, that maybe if that didn’t happen at least he would wake up in his bed with his mother, drinking tea and eating biscuits and some of his favorite scones with loads of honey and butter on them, talking all about how Hogwarts was going for him or how he was afraid of the future and the thought of having to choose a career and maybe some boy troubles he was having, and that his mother would just hug him and brush his hair back and kiss him on the forehead and laugh with him and tell him that _Everything is going to be alright, dragon. Just you wait._

But that didn’t happen. Because he can’t have good things in his life. His mother didn’t break down the door and save him from his father, nor did his mother wake him up and tell him it was time for breakfast like she always did. Because his mother, his wonderful, caring, beautiful, amazing mother, was not at home and would not be here for the rest of the week, and would only arrive in the last week of summer back home.

His father’s thrusts inside of him only got harder and faster and deeper, as if he was looking for something he couldn’t find, and he draped himself across Draco’s back(he was thankful his father decided it wasn’t worth it to take his own shirt off) and slammed into him so hard that Draco’s hips started to bounce up and down the bed and his cock grinded against the silken mattress and his father’s soft palm roughly, making him cry out and scream again. And with a few moves of his hips, his father pressed on a spot inside of Draco again and again and again that made the ever-building pleasure spark into an inferno that burned and scorched and slashed his insides and that continued to be merciless. And before he realised what was happening, he was shouting out and cumming so hard his vision went white with dark spots and his body collapsed, all of the remaining strength he had inside of him snapping and dissipating like morning fog.

He wished he had passed out after that. He wished he had passed out and woke up hours later tucked into his bed with his clean pajamas and rested and fine, and never have to think about what just happened. He wasn’t able to, though, and he felt every single drag of the cock inside of him and he heard every single sound his father made, and he felt the full body shudder of his father when he came inside of Draco and the low, pleased, moan he let out, and the last bite on his shoulders that made him flinch and whimper.

Draco was left all alone after that. His shirt still up and his trousers and pants down, throat sore and eyes dry, and his lower back aching and arse burning. He didn’t feel empty or hollow, like he thought he would. Not only did his mind feel like it was stuffed with cotton and shards of glass lit on fire, but his arse was- it was filled with- it was-

It was filled with his father’s cum.

He didn’t go to sleep for a while after that. He just stared at his desk where his homework and books were, and hoped with all of his remaining strength for something miraculous to happen to him, even if he knew nothing would happen. And nothing ever happened. Nothing ever happened. Nothing ever happened the next morning when Poppy, his favourite house elf, came into his room to tell him that breakfast was ready and that his father was waiting for him, all the while looking at the door and not at him.

Nothing ever happened to him that could help him understand why his father did what he did to him, and he dreaded for when he would have to face his father again, knowing he wouldn’t even look at him once or care about his presence enough to talk to him, like usual.

He knew that, because he knew that the universe was out to get him. And he would never forget that.


	2. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cant write anything else but this rn. and no porn this time, but next chapter will deliver it, i swear. i wanna get a bit more descriptive and shit with my writing so yeehaw.  
> also thanks for all of yall reading <3 i know many might not want to leave kudos or comments or even public bookmarks for this kind of fic, but thank you for clicking on it anyway, ily all <3

Soft sheets against his front.

Burning scrapes along his neck and shoulders.

Fingers gripping his hips and head down, then wrapping around his prick.

The forceful thrusts of his father’s cock inside him, tearing him up from the inside, and the cum dripping from his hole and onto the sheets.

It was those things that Draco couldn’t get out of his head.

Those feelings, those exact ones, seared into his mind and body forcefully, marked by a molten iron poker against his skin or an Unforgivable cast upon him. Not even the worst curse could feel just as the agonizing pain in his lower back and the hole in his chest that he felt throughout the day. Nothing he had ever felt before could compare to the helplessness and depression that came afterwards.

He didn’t see his father the day after he ra- after he forced himself upon Draco. Not once. Not even just a flash of robes and white hair around the corners. Not even just the sound of his voice as he spoke to mother across the Floo. The only time he “saw” him was in his portrait, hanging above one of Draco’s favourite bookshelves that had his most beloved books and trinkets that was in the living room.

Each second, minute, hour that passed from last night was a new weight added onto the already existing heaviness that Draco felt every day. Each step he took, each breath he let out, each time he brushed his hand along his leg, he _felt_. He felt _everything_ in his body and remembered how it felt like to be crushed under the weight of his father, and each time he remembered how it was like to be held down by him and almost suffocate as he fucked him mercilessly made Draco want to vomit the little food he was able to gobble down. And he did vomit, once. It was in the afternoon when he went to his bedroom to search for his wand, and he looked in the corner where he threw his clothes and soiled sheets and- and they were still _there_ , Poppy hadn’t taken them to wash them up and the bile rose up quickly and his nose and eyes stung as he hurried to his bathroom, and he saw the bloodied towel he used to clean himself that morning when the stinging pain of his hole raged most and it was so overwhelming and he couldn't _hold it down anymore, sobbing over the toilet bowl as his stomach emptied and his mind was burning and screaming and begging for release-_

He lay on the ground next to it for an hour or maybe two, exhausted through and through, staring at the ceiling where the chandelier was lit and its candles burned away without a care. And he wished he could burn up in that moment as well, spare him of the pain of looking at himself in the mirror and seeing the shame and disgust he felt for himself in that moment.

Even if he whined and cried and screamed, he still-- he still enjoyed it, didn’t he? His prick became hard, though the thrusts of his father’s cock inside him were rather painful he still enjoyed the pressure against his back and inside him, and his father’s hand jerking him off and making him cum felt good. How could he be angry at his father when _Draco_ was the one who enjoyed it?

He looked down at his hands when he washed them and rinsed his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut when he reached for the hand towel and cleaned himself up. He waddled blindly towards the door where he breathed a sigh of relief when he closed it behind him.

He barely touched his food at dinner, the only thing he ate being a piece of bread with butter and a healing potion that Poppy had so graciously given him when he asked for it.

Though the entire day he felt stifled and heavy, his throat and head filled entirely with smoke and ice and broken glass, the potion eased a bit of the pain and helped him regain his wits for some time. It was alright. He was fine. He could just overlook all of that and move on and get ready to finish up his summer homework and be all good and ready for when mother was back and they would go out for one last time before he had to leave for Hogwarts again and deal with all of his acquaintances and friends, and a rather annoying twit with green eyes and lighting bolt scar that made his heart race and his mind go miles a minute. All of it purely out of anger of course. And he was Prefect this year! All was going to go well and the rest of his summer was going to be fine and school would go well. He was sure of it. He hoped.

He shouldn’t have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c


	3. Bedroom II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His father visits him the next night as well, but this time he doesn't hold back. It gets violent. And gross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright its 4 am, i told myself i would just edit this but instead it doubled in size(original 1.7k and this ver is 3.6 k) and now. i am dead. didnt write to cope really but it did help me with keeping distracted on relapsing so lol  
> now i can finally get to writing for my other fic that i needed to update more than 2 weeks ago. hwhehebehebe  
> oh sidenote if anyone is afraid that drarry is gonna be a big part- it will be yes but not in a happy way ive decided :) at all :)) poor draco hes got a big storm coming up
> 
> **warning for vomit and more blood involved i guess??? and a tad bit of violence lol, tho what did you expect from a noncon fic shsnshsbshbd**

He was faking sleep when his father came in that night. 

He didn’t think that his father would have had the guts to come that night as well, right after the first one, but apparently he did, and it terrified Draco in a way he never thought was possible. 

Draco forced himself to remain calm when he felt his bed dip slightly behind him. He tried to control his breathing when his father shuffled closer to him and laid down next to him. He kept his eyes shut when a hand dipped beneath his blanket and started rubbing his hip through his nightshirt. And though his heart was beating faster and faster and he was sure he could feel it, his father paid no heed to it, and started to slowly push Draco’s shirt upwards and caress his sides and stomach tenderly.

Draco tried to ignore all of it. He really did. He tried to ignore the slow comforting circles his father was kneading into his skin, making him lose the tension that was building up. Draco tried to ignore the light scrape of his nails as his hand started to wander up to his chest and the pins of pleasure that were left by them behind. He tried to ignore it all when his father brought his thumb against one of his nipples and rubbed it harshly, making it stiffen fast. He tried to ignore it, because a small part of his brain that was loud and demanding was screaming that this was all just a dream. It was all just a dream. He was just asleep and somehow sexually frustrated after what happened last night and was looking for a way to relieve that frustration _and_ process what happened to him.

But when the dream didn’t stop, when his father started getting more bold with his hand and brought the other one under him and then to his crotch where his fingers tapped lightly against Draco’s flaccid cock through then thin material, he _had_ to do something or else it wouldn’t turn well for him. So Draco sighed, and brought his hands up and stretched himself out carefully, clenching and unclenching his muscles and letting out a satisfied noise when he was done, making this as believable as he could. That would spook his father from continuing on with fondling him, he was sure of it. (He hoped.)

It did not. Rather he was encouraged, perhaps realising that Draco was awake only arousing him further. A chill ran down his spine. He didn’t move when his father started to lightly pinch his nipple, rolling it between his thumb as his other hand cupped Draco through his trousers and squeezed, getting closer to Draco and bringing his hips and chest flush against his. And he was hard, Draco found out. And breathing hard as well, if the rise and fall of his chest and puffed breath against the nape of his neck signified. Draco’s eyes snapped open at last and he prepared to push away. He wasn’t going to let it happen again. Not on his bloody watch.

His father sensed what he was going to do before he even got to it, somehow, and in a flash his arms wrapped around Draco’s waist and he was _hauled_ above and then on the other side, disorienting Draco entirely and making him gasp. He kicked the blanket off of them and pushed Draco forcefully onto his front, ignoring the grunts and almost-growls that Draco was making, seating himself onto his hips once again. He pushed his hips down and grinded his cock against Draco’s arse, and he started to struggle underneath him more. He tried to kick him with his feet but his father was too far up for them to reach him. And he tried to hit him with his elbows in his sides but he _couldn't bloody reach him_ and he cried out when his father pushed him down, painfully gripping his hair with one of his hands and the other one at his hips, digging his fingers painfully into him. And laughing all the while, as if his struggling was funny to him. The laugh rang in his ears and made a shiver run down his spine and Draco felt _sick_ with his father and he felt _sick_ with _himself_ , and his stomach lurched for one horrifying second before it settled down. He was either going to vomit or pass out, or maybe both.

He still tried to struggle a bit. Of course he did. Even if it only made his father tighten his grip on his hair and push him harder into the mattress, the pressure against his head and hips making him feel like he was being crushed to death, he still had to try. _Malfoys never gave up,_ his father had always told him. _But be sensible with your choices._

He could be sensible with punching him, perhaps. A kick to his crotch or a punch to his face Draco was sure would be considered sensible in that terrible situation. But he _couldn’t_. He _physically couldn’t_. He was being held down and used by his father, and his body was starting to give up already, sensing a lost battle from miles away. Draco’s legs were aching and the kicks upwards were losing momentum and strength, and his hands were trapped underneath his father’s knees and he realised that he was entirely trapped underneath him. Tears stung his eyes and he tried to scream again, but he choked on his spit when without warning his father's hands let go of him and went down to his arse where he started groping it.

He hadn't even taken Draco’s trousers down. Just felt him up through them and hummed and cooed under his breath when Draco started to whine and gasp in protest. He wasn't sure if it was mocking or not, but the shame that burned through him was unbearable to say the least. It only burned brighter and made his chest hurt harder when his father actually slid his hands under the hem of his trousers and pulled them slowly down to his thighs, like he was enjoying the process of unwrapping a gift too much.

His father pulling Draco’s trousers off so slowly, almost mockingly even, made him realise that throughout his pathetic attempts at trying to get his father off of him, he was hard. Again. And achingly so. His stomach lurched with disgust and shame at himself, and he gagged, and felt the bile rose but kept it down. This was too much for him already.

The next few minutes were a blur for him, and he thought of it as mercy. He was floating again, his mind seeping away from his body and making everything around him feel like smoke, his body almost buzzing and rattling with the discomfort of being there but not _really_ being there while he was being used.

He blinked, and things started to sharpen around him, processing the tears falling down his face and the rough exhales of his father which became loud and clear to him. He blinked again, and somehow he was face first into a pillow and arse up in the air on display for his father entirely. He blinked _again_ , and the feeling of wet fingertips at his hole registered to Draco. He almost sobbed in relief. Maybe he wouldn’t go all dry in and with no stretching this time. Draco _hoped_.

(He shouldn’t have.)

He should’ve known better, because those fingers left his hole as soon as Draco thought that he was being considerate for once, and instead of them coming back the head of his cock pressed up against his entrance and tried to push in, though slightly wet with precum. It still wasn't enough. Draco clenched down on instinct, trying to fight and pull his hips away, but when his father tried to grab him by his arms and push him down again one last burst of adrenaline shot through Draco and he screamed angrily before moving. He kicked and pushed away as hard as he could and scrabbled at the sheets and pulled himself up the bed, twisting himself so that his arse was down before flinging his arms out towards his father’s face where he felt a _crack_ underneath his fist as it made contact with his face and kicked him hard in the stomach with one of his legs-- And the joy, oh the _joy_ he felt when he saw blood drip down his face and heard the pained wheeze that he let out- It was intoxicating to Draco in that sweet moment, and he pushed himself away again towards his nightstand, almost falling over the edge of the bed in his hurry, and he twisted away from his father and reached _for his wand-_

 _Crack_ , Draco felt iron-hot pain land on his back and travel up to his head and he _wailed_ in pain and shock. Draco stumbled off the bed, dropping his wand and hitting his head on his nightstand in the process, and he was dizzy and everything around him was blurry and he felt like he was going to actually pass out. A blurry shape above him appeared and it came only closer to him and pushed him further onto the floor, away from his bed and wand and nightstand and anything he could hold on, the carpet underneath him burning him as he tried, drunken-like, to push that blurry figure away from him. And Draco realised that that “figure” was his father and that he was on the floor above him, holding him down with a hand around his throat that was squeezing it and another one in his hair that was pulling, and an unbearable wave of pain washed over Draco unexpectedly, starting from his hips and moving upwards in unbearable spasms and shocks, and he shook and trembled and cried harder underneath his own bloody _father_ and he realised, rather belatedly, that his father had pushed inside of him dry and bottomed out in a matter of seconds, forcing himself inside even through the spasms of the walls around his cock, and he thought that he was going to be ripped in half and die. Draco _screamed._

It felt like he was enduring hell on earth in that moment. He he couldn’t breath, an acidic taste settling in the back of his throat and suffocating him further along with his stomach which was fighting against him, mouth wide and struggling to gasp for air and barely able to see through his tears and- and _blood?_ Draco was sobbing and crying out in pain again and again and again and his father only pushed into him harder and harder and harder and moaned so loudly and with so much pleasure that made Draco feel outraged but he had no energy to act upon it as he usually would. His violent thrusts drove Draco up the carpet and slammed him into the ground, burning his skin against the coarse material and aggravated wound he got on his back from whatever his father did to incapacitate him in such ways. Draco’s head lulled to the side and jerked along with the rhythm of the thrusts, and he saw his wand was just at an arm’s reach away from him. If he could just lift his arm up and reach out, perhaps he could-

Then he felt empty. Not emotionally, for he felt like everything was burning inside of him and his mind, but physically. His father pulled out suddenly and moved away from Draco, leaving him alone and empty, empty, _empty._. Draco started shaking harder, terrified at what might happen next, and even _mortified_. What if his father had a fill of him already and just left him like this? What if he decided to finish later on and just left Draco like this, hole gaping open and his own tears choking him, but ready to use for when he came back?

And then there was nothing. Nothing _underneath_ him at least, but a pair of hands underneath his armpits that pushed him up. He was being hauled up into the air and then dropped onto his bed before he realised it, and Draco cried out in relief that he wasn’t just left there to stew in his shame. But when he turned around and looked to his father again all of the relief disappeared instantly. His father was looking at him like a predator would look at it’s prey, his cock standing up and proud between his legs and red, precum and blood smeared across it. Draco was glad to see that he was still clothed, though, he really was. It would be too much for him to be skin to skin entirely. Then everything seemed to snap back into motion and Draco scrambled back away from his father as fast as he could with the almost debilitating pain he was feeling. But he was too slow, unsurprisingly, because next thing he knew was that he was pulled back to the edge of the bed, legs pushed towards his chest and hole exposed in an instant before his father brought his cock back to his entrance and thrust into Draco in one fell swoop.

The force behind his father’s thrusts right from the get-go of reentering him was unbearable, bouncing up from his cock when he fucked into Draco and then dragged back down by his father’s hands around his hips when he pulled out and went back in. The bedframe was rattling slightly and the pillows were falling off the bed, and when he looked down at himself he thought that for a moment he saw his stomach bulge when his father grinded into him before fucking him again. It didn’t matter anyway. Not when his father’s cock was brushing past the same spot inside him that made his breath hitch and eyes roll back and Draco just _gave up_ at that moment. He couldn’t fight anymore. He just couldn’t.

A few moments passed of him just being taken and used, filthy words spilling out of his father’s mouth that he paid no attention to as he tried to just enjoy whatever he bloody could out of this fucked up experience. His father seemed to get bored of that position though, and pulled out swiftly before turning Draco around that his knees were on the mattress and he wasn’t facing him anymore, then wrapped one of his arms around Draco’s shoulders and pulled him up and held him against his chest as he went back inside him again. His movements were slow but deep, hitting spots inside of Draco that he didn’t know were there and once again just _brushing_ against that _one spot_ that made Draco’s thighs quiver and breath speed up. Pleasure finally started to overcome most of the pain and it built up agonisingly slow, his prick slapping his stomach with every hard thrust from his father. In this position he could feel the way his father fucked into him even more clearly, and the feeling of his cock twitching inside of Draco when he let out a surprisingly loud moan made his stomach swoop and his own cock twitch. Though it was more for show than anything, Draco tried to claw at his father’s arms around his shoulders and wiggle his hips off(it only made it feel better somehow), but gave up when his father brought his other hand to Draco’s neck and squeezed threateningly, before picking up speed again. The hand from his neck moved and the other replaced it while it slowly went down his torso to his cock, where he wrapped it around him and started jerking Draco off in time with his thrusts.

The thought of cumming again because of his father made him feel somehow exhilarated and sick with himself in equal measures. His vision heavy with tears was blurring and darkening at the edges, breath coming in short bursts that were more painful than helpful, and his body going lax as his orgasm was creeping closer to him. It was too much. It was too much. His stomach lurched again and this time he couldn’t hold it anymore. 

He gagged once, twice, almost violently due to the pressure around his neck, before he emptied his stomach onto himself and choked on the acrid taste in his mouth. Tears were still falling down his face, snot was dripping down past his lips and onto his chin, and he felt like he was burning up from the inside. He gagged again, but it only resulted in the pungent smell of his vomit and taste register even more which in turn made him gag harder. He had nothing else to throw up apparently, because all he did was let his mouth go wide open and tongue loll out while he tried to breath. Unsuccessfully. 

He was definitely going to die, he knew it. It was all too much.

He didn’t even feel the way his father latched his teeth on his neck again until teeth pierced his skin, blood slowly welling up at the bite mark. His father licked it clean, and Draco felt the almost purr his father let out. He gagged again and saliva dripped down his chin and onto his neck.

“Do you want to cum, Draco?” his father asked. And his voice rattled Draco to the core. It wasn’st just the fact that he hadn’t heard his father speak for almost two days, but the question was so condescending that it made his brain stop for a moment. Did he want to _cum?_ What kind of sick joke was that? He wished that the ground opened up beneath him and swallowed him whole; he hoped that some miracle happened in that moment and stopped his father and perhaps ended both of them, because the shame was so unbearable that Draco started to cry harder and gag again. That was a lovely scenario, Draco thought. Both of them dead. And he almost forgot his father asked him a question, in that small second of serenity. The lack of response grated on his nerves apparently, because he stopped his thrusts and the hand around Draco’s prick entirely, the cock deep inside of him warm and pulsing. Draco let out a gravely moan filled with pain. If he was going to be done with this at least he could do it properly.

“Draco, I asked you a question.”

Draco didn’t respond that time either. He was gasping for air while sobbing uncontrollably, and trying his best not to choke on the taste of acid and blood in his mouth that was overwhelming his senses. And he was sure his vocal chords were a mess anyways. He heard his father scoff and Draco flinched and whimpered in fear. His throat hurt.

“Pathetic. Can’t even answer a simple question. Then I’ll answer it for you,” and then he grabbed Draco by the hips and _truly_ started to fuck into him so hard that he heard the headboard hit the wall slightly, nipping at his neck and shoulders and around the bite mark that was slowly bruising and bleeding again. "I don't think you really want to."

He was sobbing. All of the energy left his body entirely by that point and the upper part of his body fell onto the mattress, only just a hole to be used however his father desired and his body to be destroyed. Every bite on his skin made him whimper. Every thrust made him sob harder and brought him closer to cumming. Every single satisfied sound his father let out was like another push into the already lodged knife inside of Draco’s chest. And he couldn’t hold any of his sounds anymore. He let out moans and screams and mewls and groans of pain and pleasure and fear and terror out and didn’t care anymore. Truly, he was exhausted to the marrow of his bones.

A few more violent thrusts inside of him before his father's hips stuttered in their rhythm and stopped entirely, a loud guttural groan coming out of him as warmth spilled inside of Draco and slowly made it's way into his thighs. It felt like ages until his father pulled his spent cock from inside of Draco and buttoned up his trousers before heading towards the door, almost as if nothing had even happened there.

Draco looked behind him at his father who opened up the door and looked back towards him for one last time before nodding in approval and shutting the door behind him.

He stayed there, his arse still up in the air and sobs muffled by his sheets, cum and blood mixing as they oozed from his hole and onto his thighs, letting time pass and hoping that he would just pass out. One thing was bugging him though, and he wasn’t sure what it was. Until he looked down at himself and he realised.

Draco was still hard. Painfully so. Precum was dripping down from the head of his cock and onto his sheets, and he almost started sobbing again at seeing how much of a mess he was left with. The cum, the blood, his hard-on, and even the vomit stained him and the sheets underneath him, and his body was littered with bites and bruises and cuts and so much blood that time.

He was so, so tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: draco jacking off and hating himself even more  
> also if anyone ever comments... <3 ily in a very gay way. no homo tho.  
> (yeah this is a coping fic but shush others can enjoy it as do i)


	4. Arousal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the last time his father used him. And some jacking off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man dont you just love projecting onto characters? sorry boo, ure hating urself  
> the end of the chapter might be a bit weird, but mind u i wrote this in two sittings, all WEEKS apart from one another, and im uploading this after the second session after i woke up in a cold sweat bc i forgot to do it earlier
> 
> **This chapter includes:** self hatred, mentions of wounds and blood, crying, fantasizing about being raped, and jacking off.

His body felt sore. Rigid. Burning everywhere. Like a strung out hair tie that would snap at any moment. His back ached and pulsed and burned in pain, his vision and mind were fuzzy and clouded, and he had no energy left whatsoever inside of him. He could barely make himself fall onto his side and hug himself in a pitiful attempt at comfort. It was sad. All of it was sad.

Fucked up. It was _fucked up_.

Draco wasn’t sure how to deal with what just happened. He wasn’t sure if he should deal with his wounds first, or if he should go to the bathroom, or if he should clean the bed sheets, or even deal with his… little “problem”.

He was still hard. He knew that. He felt it in the way his prick still twitched and ached to be touched, and in the coolness from his precum drying on him. He longed for release but he was too scared to actually achieve it. Because he wasn’t supposed to enjoy it. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy the fact that his father abused him in such a way. What was he to do, then?

He knew he could reach down to his cock and get it over with quickly. He could bring down one of his hands to his hole and finger himself while he jerked off and be over with it, letting his arousal wash over him before the shame came crashing back down. He could _so_ easily give in to the pleasure and cum and then be done for the night and sleep afterwards.

But he couldn’t do that. Because he had to take care of his wounds. He had to clean himself up. He had to go to the bathroom and take a bath and drink a potion to help the damage heal faster and perhaps even get a midnight snack. He had to do so many things, and it made Draco feel heavy with exhaustion and dread, and was anything really worth it? If he hadn’t deserved this, then he wouldn’t have had to deal with it in the first place anyway.

So that was it, then, Draco realised in muted shock. He deserved it. Whatever gods were out there that decide someone's fate, they thought of him as vile enough to make him endure all of this pain and heartache and ple-

And pleasure.

As much as he whined and cried and screamed at his father to stop, as much as he begged for any kind of mercy from him, as much as he fought back and tried to put a stop to it… Draco still ended up enjoying it. Didn’t he? His hard prick was proof enough for him, at least. He was still hard after what felt like hours of laying in his bed, curled up in pain and misery, and no matter how much he tried to think about vile things(Voldemort, Voldermort, _naked_ Voldermort-) he still remained hard.

Did he enjoy it? Of course not. That was the logical answer, and the one answer that he tried to grip onto for dear life at that moment. He could almost _feel_ the thoughts that said otherwise creeping up his spine and slowly settling down and taking root into his mind, but he brushed them off. He tried to, at least.

Because… Well. Because it was wrong. He didn’t enjoy it. He _didn’t_ enjoy it. It was only a biological response from his body that he couldn’t contain. He was a bloody teenager, wasn’t he? For fuck’s sake, of course he didn’t enjoy his father ra-- His father raping him. It’s not like he had sex before his father used him.

Just that thought alone made Draco’s eyes sting with tears again, and all attempts at trying to get up and go to the bathroom were abandoned. 

His father raped him. Took away his virginity. Cut and clear simple. He raped Draco and _used_ him. Not once, but _twice_ , one night after the other, one more violent than the other. Was it going to be a trend? Was he going to rape him every single night while he was at the Manor, and rough him up more and more each time to the point where he’d pass out and even _die_ during it? 

Or maybe he was dramatic in that regard. He should really tend to his wounds and clean himself up.

(Or maybe Draco wanted to die right then and there.)

And with those thoughts in mind, Draco fell asleep.

He woke up to the light that was filtering in through the small slit between the curtains. His head was pounding and his eyes stung, his throat felt dry and his mouth sour. When he cracked his eyes open, squinting from the sunlight, he looked down at himself and sneered. Of course he fell asleep as he was about to get up and clean himself up. Of course he fell asleep while his wounds were left untreated and his hole was still dripping with cum and blood. Of course. He wasn’t even surprised when he brought his hands up to his face to rub his eyes and he saw both of them tainted by blood. He almost felt sick.

Unsurprisingly, he _did_ feel sick. The stagnant air in the room was almost putrid to Draco, and he almost gagged when he took a breath in and smelled the acidic and disgusting smell of old vomit. It didn’t help that his mouth was still filled with the taste of bile and blood, and he did gag when he tried to swallow to help out his throat. It was going to be terrible trying to deal with the mess while he felt drained in all the ways possible, magic included.

He waited for a few moments, trying to calm down his racing heart and his thoughts. Breathing harshly though his mouth, trying not to cry from all the overwhelming sensations he was dealing with. Then he tried to get up. Draco rolled himself over to the edge of the bed and pulled himself up on his feet and wobbled for a moment, hissing through clenched teeth from the pain. Everything hurt so much more now that he was awake and aware of everything around him and his body. Every step he took towards the bathroom made his skin shift uncomfortably and his head pound harder, and he barely kept his tears at bay by the time he arrived and went to the bathtub, where he quickly turned on the water and waited for the tub to fill.

He should’ve gone with the instant-fill tub his mother recommended him. It would’ve spared him the uncomfortable minutes he had to sit with himself in bubbling shame in his mind and the ever-pulsing pain in his body. Was the damage really that bad? He thought of perhaps tending his wounds before he got into the water, but he recoiled. It would mean having to look into the mirror and see what his father did to him. And that would make it so much more _real_ for Draco. To see all of the pain he felt reflected back from his mirror. He felt like throwing up again.

He hissed when he dipped himself in the water. It was so painful. But, nonetheless, he got himself clean in record time, somehow being able to avoid looking at his reflection in the water while at it and cleaning himself with a precision he was surprised he still had. 

It stung badly when he had to actually get his fingers inside of him to assess the damage. He was tender- he could clearly feel that- and there was definitely some type of tearage that had happened there. He hissed when he breached himself with two of his fingers, and almost whimpered when he got them out. 

(He ignored the way his cock twitched and ached. He ignored the arousal that had gotten worse since he got his fingers inside of himself. He _wouldn’t_ think about it.) 

A simple healing potion would patch him up, so the damage wasn’t anything too bad or worrying for him. What worried Draco most was the wounds on his back and the scarring that they would leave once they healed. He didn’t need a reminder of what happened last night, and the other one for that matter, and these would definitely last for a while. Perhaps he could ask for a salve to help with them. That would be a good idea.

(He ignored his still-hard cock with such determination that he could consider himself Gryffindor by that point. He’d wait for it to die down. Simple as that. He wouldn’t give in.)

When he got out of the tub he didn’t even look back or bother to dry himself up. He went to his room, limp clear in his steps all the while, and snapped his fingers twice in the air before he went towards his wardrobe. A _pop_ with the accompanying jangle of bobbles sounded behind him, as he swung the doors of the wardrobe open and started looking for his nightshirt.

“How can I help you, young master?”

The tension left his body once he heard the comforting voice of Poppy and the tinkling noises as she spoke. Poppy was one of the only house elves that Draco actually liked. He liked her so much that he gave her the bits and bobbles that she used to decorate her pillowcase and ears with, even.

He didn’t even know _why_ he liked her so much. Perhaps it was due to her being incredibly kind to him and helping his mother out with taking care of him as a baby. Perhaps it was the big brown eyes that she had, that reminded Draco of a warm cup of hot chocolate she would make him when he was young and cold and all alone. Or, perhaps, because she actually _liked_ him, with all his brattiness and snotty attitude. Which was a rarity with how he treated house elves. He smiled a bit to himself. He really was an asshole, wasn’t he? Then he sighed.

“Poppy, change the sheets and freshen up the room as fast as you can. Do the bathroom as well. And get me a healing potion while you’re at it,” then, hesitantly, he added, “Please.”

He cringed at himself. Might as well be a bit nice to her for dealing with the mess left behind by him, he thought. A please, one that was in the privacy of his room, wouldn’t hurt him that much in the long run. 

Draco heard shuffling and the sounds of her bobs behind him. “Master Draco, you already had a potion yesterday.”

He struggled to reach his top shelf. Why didn’t he take his wand with him? “Yes, I know.”

She cleared her throat. “Then you might be aware that you are not allowed to have another potion the day after, Master Draco.”

More struggle. Poppy was getting on his nerves. “Yes, I _know_ \- Poppy, get a shirt from up there for me and _do_ what I asked you to do.”

In an instant - _pop_ , _pop_ , _POP_. One of his nightshirts appeared in his hand. The room lit up as the curtains were drawn. A harsh breeze picked up in his room for just a second, and when Draco inhaled he was able to smell the faint scents of apples and bergamot, and the very distinct smell of the mansion. 

Draco put on his silk nightshirt and a pair of pants he quickly snatched before he looked back, squinting just a bit from the brightness of the room. Poppy had also opened up the window, warm air coming from outside, and cleaned his bed and carpet. No remnants of what happened last night left behind.

But there was no potion in sight, though there was a plate with a sandwich and some water on his nightstand, alongside his wand. Draco frowned at Poppy, who was waiting in the middle of the room, looking distressed.

“Where’s the potion, Poppy? I asked you for one.”

Poppy looked up at him and she looked in so much _pain_ it almost worried Draco. “Master Draco, you know the risks that come with taking them so often.”

He scowled at her. “Yes, I do, but I don't need to worry about that. This will be the last time I’ll take one for a long while, Poppy.”

_But was it going to be the last time you’ll need it like this_ , his brain asked.

_How about you shut up_ , he replied.

“Master Draco, ple-”

“Enough back talk, Poppy,” he snarled, his voice rising. “Get me a potion and then _leave me alone._ ”

Another sliver of guilt appeared when she flinched. Poppy frowned at him before she disappeared in an instant with a loud _pop_ and last few jangles from her accessories. Then a small vial appeared on his nightstand. 

He gulped the food and water down greedily, then downed the last bits of it with the potion. He felt full and even a bit rested, though his head still pounded and his throat felt like it was filled with sandpaper. The pain in his back and bottom started to slowly fade away - a cold feeling starting up in the places he knew he was hurt, and slowly dissipating as it took effect.

Draco flopped on his back on the bed. He closed his eyes. He took a deep breath in, then a deep breath out. Deep breath in, deep breath out. His mind was silent, for the first time in the last hour or so, and he felt calm. The potion had something to do with it, he knew that, but it was still a weird sort of calm he hadn’t felt in quite a while. He welcomed it in its entirety, and let himself drift in and out of sleep as he lay there on his bed.

When he finally came back to full consciousness, it took him a while to register what was bothering him. There was something, an _itch_ , that was starting to push at him to do _something_ , but he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He shifted a bit and spread his legs apart. The frustration only grew worse. Draco frowned. He wasn’t hungry, nor did he feel like tearing his skin off from what he had to deal with, so then what was it-

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh, Morgana’s tits, he was hard. Of-fucking-course he had forgotten all about it.

The realisation that he was still hard after hours and hours where he tried, he _tried_ , not to do anything about it - to give in and admit that he felt _good_ , that he still somehow _enjoyed_ being raped - It drove Draco into a panic attack. A full blown panic attack, with desperate gasps for air and tears running down his face and body shaking and mind racing, and oh by all the gods out there, everything was so wrong wrong _wrong_.

Everything was wrong. Everything, everything, everything. Everything. He wasn’t sure what to do. Was this going to happen every night? Every single night until he had to leave for Hogwarts? And what about then? His father had Draco come back home regularly during the weekends for family time, and- and had his father told anyone about this? About what he did to his own son? Uncle Severus? Perhaps his mother? Oh, by all the great gods. What if his mother was in on this as well? What if she knew what happened to him while she was gone? What if she was planning on doing this as well--

No, no, no. That was stupid. She would never do that. She wouldn’t. She _couldn’t_. She was her last anchor, and he wasn’t going to ruin her like that.

And what about Draco? Was he to suffer through all of this and say nothing? Was he going to let his father assault him whenever he pleased? Even if it happened in his bedroom - twice now, his brain reminded him - he could always do it in any other room of the Manor. Take Draco whenever he pleased.

Draco felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore. Perhaps he had swallowed his own tongue and was choking on it, but when he felt bile rise up again and he gagged, his tongue was still there. He was gagging on nothing, his stomach swooping and lurching and trying to get something out, but there was barely anything there to actually vomit out. And Draco thought of it as a small mercy for a moment.

One thought after the other, one more alarming that the last, they were racing through Draco’s mind. He was afraid in that moment, he realised. Afraid. Afraid and terrified for himself and what was to come and, and-  
_And he was still fucking hard._

That was all a cruel joke from the universe. Everything was a cruel joke from the universe, it seemed. Draco shakily dragged himself up to the pillows where he flopped, bringing one of them up to his face and letting himself cry. He didn’t even try to silence himself or anything. He just cried - sobbed really - and begged for something to happen in that moment. Anything. Anything that would take him as far away as possible from his father.

He continued to cling onto the pillow and cry until his head was pounding and the light outside was starting to dim. It probably has been hours since he last ate and, well, did anything else but cry. He got to the point where he was just sniffling, his entire head feeling like it was getting smashed over concrete repeatedly, over and over again.

Why was he even denying himself release at that point? Was it to prove something to his _father_ , who didn’t even care about him anymore? To himself? What was he to prove, anyways? That he was strong and actually ok even though he was raped by his father?

Who cared. Nothing mattered anymore. _Nothing mattered anymore._

He didn’t even work himself up. All Draco did was shove one of his shaking hands down his pants unceremoniously, like he was eleven again and he had found out how good it felt to do this, and immediately started to stroke his prick, no spit or lube to help him along. He soon started using his hips to push into the tight grip of his fingers, and with every thrust forward he let out small, choked out whimpers that were too loud in the too silent room of his.

As much as his hand around his cock hurt, and he wished he just got over with it, that pain was the only thing that kept him from constantly thinking about - about his father. Or, to be more specific, his father raping him again. He had to endure the real thing, and this wasn’t just Draco having a fantasy or two about being fucked by his father. The fact that he actually _knew_ how that was like - a fantasy made true - it made him feel sick. 

And yet it also made his cock twitch in his hand and arousal pulse from his cock. Draco clenched his teeth. Maybe thinking about it would help him process it. Yes, perhaps that was for the best. Not thinking about what happened per say, but fantasizing about it?

He stopped his thrusts and let himself think for a moment. How would he even begin this fantasy? His father coming in again, at night perhaps- No, no, that was too much already. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Then, perhaps his father going to Draco’s room. And he was there, sitting innocently at his desk, just doing his homework. Yes, that worked. And Draco would turn around at his father who would be smiling at him, and he would smile back and ask _Everything alright, father?_ and he would make Draco stand up from the chair and push him front first onto the desk, scattering all kinds of papers and inkwells off of it.

Draco’s cock throbbed in response. He squeezed himself a few times, before going back to his fantasy.

And his father would be petting him and making him feel safe- _no_ , no. No, he wouldn’t, He _didn’t_. His father would shove him face first onto the desk and rip his trousers off, maybe spell his shirt off as well. He’d push his cock inside, no lubrication or anything to ease the intrusion, and the burst of pain that would follow it would make Draco cry out and - The real Draco cried out himself as he started to pick up the pace of his hips again.

His father would also spank him time and time again until his cheeks were glowing red and warm, and he would yank at Draco’s hair and call him a _good boy, such a good slut_ , and Draco would moan and squeeze down on his cock and say _yes, father_ and gag on his father’s fingers when he would pushed them inside.

Draco was trembling. He had given up on using his hips, and instead resumed with his hand around his cock with quick and rough strokes, and it felt _so good_. The thought of his father hurting him again, of using him again- he knew it was just his aroused brain making things muddled, but he enjoyed it way too much. The thought of his father, who was stronger than he expected, manhandling Draco so that he was facing the elder Malfoy, and then pushing his cock back inside and hitting _all of the right spots-_

He was so close, he was so close, he was so close. He could feel himself reach the peak, and he was almost there- but there was something _missing_ , something off. With desperate movements he brought his other hand down between his legs where his arsehole was and pushed two fingers against it in tandem with the strokes. Not inside of him, no, but just against his hole, teasing himself with the promise of more but never actually getting it. And the pleasure that burst from that made Draco squeeze his eyes shut and his toes clench, and he was almost there, _he was so close-_

One last image flashed inside of his mind. It was that of his father pushing into Draco one last time, all the while holding him by his waist with his big hands and Draco’s legs hooked over his father’s shoulders, who was releasing his cum deep inside of him and saying all kinds of filthy things at him. And just the thought of his father cumming inside of him again made his eyes roll back and a moan be ripped out of him, and Draco was cumming with such an intensity he had never expected from him just getting himself off.

When he was done, his cum on his shirt and drool down his cheek drying off, after the haze of the orgasm dissipated all he was left with was an emptiness in his chest. Complete, and utter emptiness and such a feeling of wrongness overcame him that he closed his eyes shut and forced himself to go to sleep. It didn’t matter what hour it was. He just wanted to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: Draco gets used again by his father, but DIFFERENT LOCATION??? HUH???  
> someone give draco a hug lol


	5. Morning fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco’s heart felt heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW CHARACTER TAG POG! tho i will say im not entirely sure i will have him noncon draco as well :/ planning stuff out, but i will have more concrete plans until this first week is over heh
> 
>  **this chapter includes:** light self-harm, self-hatred(including very light gory thoughts about himself)
> 
> enjoy <3 or not haha

Heavy.

Draco’s heart felt heavy. That’s what it was.

It was heavy with pain. It was heavy with unbearable, excruciating pain. With grief, almost.

He felt hollow.

So hollow.

(What was he doing again?)

He was asleep. But it didn’t feel like it. It felt like his consciousness was stuck between the living realm and the dead. He felt stuck in his own body, his own mind. His heart was beating and beating and beating and his lungs were struggling for air. His mind was screaming at him to _Move! Move, goddammit! You’ve got nothing left to fight for, but you’re not giving up now!_

But he couldn’t move a single muscle, even if he struggled with all his might to do so. His brain felt full with fuzz and static and his throat was closing up on him and his heart felt heavy, heavy, heavy, and was he ever going to escape? Was he ever going to feel the same lightness from before? The same carefree feeling he held onto so carelessly, not knowing that it would be taken away from him with just one thing? Was he?

_Was he ever going to feel normal again?_

It didn’t matter. Because when that question was screamed at him from the depths of his mind, from the darkest corners, he woke up. Draco woke up.

And so he was back to the realm of consciousness. Again.

His heart feeling heavy.

Again.

He could barely look at his own reflection in the bathroom that morning.

He woke up feeling gross, the events of yesterday hanging onto him like shackles melded into his skin, and the dried cum and drool filling him with disgust. He should get better at cleaning himself after getting off, he thought bitterly. At least then he could deny to himself whatever happened the other night.

_Do you want to cum, Draco?_

The floor was cold under his feet as he walked to his shower. His hands trembled as he took off his clothes, and the shaking got worse as he started to clean himself of his shame. His whole body started trembling when he lathered his body with his favourite lemon-scented shampoo, and he started sobbing by the time he finished cleaning himself off.

_Draco, I asked you a question._

He didn’t even use his towel afterwards. He went straight to his bed, all naked and still wet, and laid himself down on his front, sobbing pathetically. He tried to sleep for a bit longer; he tried to close his eyes and let it all fade away. Anything that could make the vile, pulsing hatred for himself back away, even if it was just for a few minutes. Even if it was just for a few seconds.

_Pathetic. Can’t even answer a simple question. Then I’ll answer it for you._

But it didn’t work. For Merlin knows how long, he laid face down on his bed, naked as the day he was born, doing nothing but clenching his teeth together and crying weakly into his pillow. He tried not to think about what he did. He tried not to think about who he fantasized about. He… tried not to _be._

_I don’t think you really want to._

(Did he want to? He can’t remember. He can’t remember. He can’t-)

Around noon Poppy popped in his room and announced that breakfast would soon be ready. A welcome distraction from the screaming matches he was having with himself. It was a bit late for breakfast in his opinion though, the sun having risen long ago and the birds at his windowsill coming back to sing their dreadful song of a happy life. But when he turned around to protest that- Poppy was already gone. So much for his favourite house elf being there for him, it seemed.

He got dressed, stretched a bit, and tried to think about anything other than his own shame, and images of being fucked over a desk. He brushed his hair, used his moisturiser on his face, and tried not to think about how empty felt in that moment; how empty, and incredibly cold he felt. 

He felt so cold. So, so cold. 

Though he hated every single second spent in his body, he wasn’t going to let it go to waste. He was thankful his mother had instilled in him the discipline of good skincare and grooming. Even if he wanted nothing more than to peel the skin off his face, and to maybe gouge his eyes out so he didn’t have to see his face any longer, he still took care of himself.

(A voice in the back of his head was jeering at him through the entire process. Why should he take care of himself when he was worth nothing? Why should he even _bother_ with all of it when at the end of the day he’d probably get ruined again? Why? Why try being _alive?_ )

(He ignored the voice. Or, tried to, at least.)

With one last shaky breath he faced his bedroom door and steeled himself. The one room in the entire mansion he thought would be safe of any fights, of any pain. Or any _unnecessary_ pain. Being a teenager was exhausting and tiresome sometimes, but he realised just how childish that had been. He tried to take a step towards his door. 

He didn’t budge. 

So he tried again. 

And again, his body didn’t cooperate. It felt like his feet were stuck to the floor by a spell, and panic was slowly creeping its way up his lungs.

It was stupid. This was stupid. Why was he panicking? Why was he being so childish? All he had to do was leave his room and go to the dining room, where he’d have breakfast with-

With his father.

Ah. So that’s why his brain was screaming at him to stay put. That’s why his brain was screaming at him that he wasn’t safe- that he’ll never be safe again.

He felt his skin itch near his throat and hips. He scratched at his collarbones. Clenched his teeth at the panic trying to consume him. He scratched some more. Harsher this time. Perhaps he could tell Poppy to bring him his breakfast here- no, no. He knew he had to show up at breakfast, or else he’d have to face the anger of his father. Announced meals were _always_ to be attended.

He swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper. He began to walk towards his door. One foot in front of the other. Step by step. Focus. He had to do this. 

The feeling of the soft carpet under his feet grounded him as he went to the door. He placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it cautiously. As if it would reveal itself to have been a mimic all along. The faint _click_ of the mechanism too loud in his suffocatingly silent room.

Breath in. Breath out.

Breath in, breath out. 

He opened the door. 

It was time to face his father. Out of the bedroom.

_Fingers all over him- on his arms, his legs, his stomach, his neck, his cock. His father’s cock splitting him into two, wrecking him and abusing him. Cum and blood mixing together on Draco’s skin._

Draco shuddered.

He started walking.

(He didn’t take his wand with him.)

-

The dining room was empty when he arrived. No house elves present. Not even his father.

The relief he felt when he noticed the chair at the head of the table was empty hit him like a wave of spells. The relief was so strong that his legs almost buckled down. But he held strong and walked to his chair where he sat down. And he waited. He picked at his fingernails. He waited.

Five minutes or so passed and his father still hadn’t arrived. His stomach growled, but he ignored the food laid out on the table. He ignored the smells. Too afraid that his father would arrive any minute and disturb the moments of peace he had been able to indulge in.

_Dragon, you know it’s rude to start eating before everybody is at the table, right?_

_Yes, mother._

_You’ll know better next time, won’t you Draco?_

_Yes, father._

_Good, little dragon. You’re learning from your mistakes. Just make sure you don’t do them again. Shall we eat, dear? Do you want to sit next to mother today?_

_Yes, please!_

He waited a little longer, barely restraining himself from calling out to Poppy or, Circe forbid, to his father. 

(thick and big inside of him, hitting so deep inside, _hitting all the right spots_ )

He continued to pick at his nails. 

(his big hands against his frail throat, the carpet burning at the wounds on his back, his head hitting his night stand)

He could see the tender meat of his index finger from where he ripped out the corner of his cuticle. 

(the acrid taste and smell of vomit, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, the dried feeling of cum and spit on his skin)

He didn’t stop until his finger started bleeding. 

(tearing you apart, tearing you into two, breaking you, breaking you, **breaking you** )

He didn’t stop until his thumb had blood dripping down from his fingernail. He didn’t stop-

 _Pop_. Rattles and jangles of bits and bobs. A cough. Draco looked up to his left. _Poppy was here_. He relaxed slightly at the comforting presence of her, letting his hands fall at his sides limply( _blood, blood, blood dripping down, down, down_ ), but felt himself grow wary when he took her in. When he saw her emotions clear as day in her posture and expression. 

(She always wore her heart on her sleeves.)

She was looking down at the ground with her hands clasped together in front of her, her nervous tremor worse than usual, and a deep frown on her wrinkled face. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes(as if she didn’t want to do this, somehow) and weakly, with a shake to her voice, whispered,

“Master Lucius is requiring your presence in his office.”

He stared at her and she stared back, her tears falling down her cheeks the longer it went on, almost like she knew what would expect him in the office. Almost like she knew _exactly_ what would happen when he went to his father. She disappeared with another _pop_ and jangles from her bobs. Draco was left staring into empty space. Left staring at the carpet. Left picking at his nails again until blood started dripping anew from his fingers. Blood, blood, _blood, blood_ -

He thought that maybe he heard her wrong. He _hoped_ that he had heard her wrong, somehow. Maybe she didn’t mean to say father, maybe she meant _mother. Mother_ is requiring your presence at the _Floo_.

But Poppy would never say something like that about mother. She would say _mum wants to talk to you at the Floo, young master_ , or perhaps _mum is waiting for you to answer, young master_. Nothing formal. Nothing that sounds like a meeting instead of a parent wanting to speak with their child. 

He picked at his thumb until the sting made him wince. He looked at his bloodied hands( _covered in blood and spit and cum and vomit and_ -) and sighed. He had to go and face his father.

He sighed a lot more these days. He was sad a lot more these days. 

Panic tried to settle in his chest again, but he talked himself down from it. Maybe father wanted to know about school, and nothing else. Maybe father was curious about his status among his peers, about how his relations were going along- what families they could trust to rely on, what families they knew would flee at the smallest sign of trouble. Perhaps he wanted to know what things he needed for the next school year and then go out and buy them together; perhaps he wanted to buy Draco the latest broom on the market. Maybe-

(Father already knew about school. Draco told him everything. He already knew about how popular he was among the Slytherins, and even in the other houses; how everybody was after him like small, desperate puppies, and how he loved to flirt and toy with the boys in his year and the ones above him. He already knew what families they could trust and what families they couldn’t. He already had a list of the things they’d have to buy, the things they already bought, and no trip was planned for the day. 

Draco told him everything, because he thought he could trust his father. He thought he could trust him with his secrets; with his fears.)

(He wasn’t so sure any more. If father was trustworthy.)

(Draco felt like crying.)

He walked over to his father’s office, all the while staring down at his feet and silently pleading that it was just going to be a regular check up and nothing more. He begged for it to be just a meeting between son and father, and that he could leave unharmed and unbothered. Perhaps even smug, if his father shared any good news with him. Perhaps relieved, if his father was going to apologise to Draco for what he had done to him.

-

The door to his office was slightly ajar. Just the smallest of slivers open, enough for Draco to hear the shouting before he saw the door.

He wasn’t able to catch much from what was being shouted- both from the distance and him focusing on licking the blood away from his hands(why didn’t he take his wand with him? he could’ve vanished the blood away). The voices, however, he recognised. His father and uncle Severus.

He heard words only at first. _Letting_ , _lord_ , _mansion_ , _your home_ , and _insane_ were shouted by his uncle. Then _do not, death wish_ , and _inevitable_ from his father.

He got closer. The words started to be more clear- started to become longer. His uncle shouted _what about Narcissa_ and _feel about it_. His own name, and then _about it_. Draco faltered. Why did his uncle say his name? Before he could think more about it, he walked further down the hall and he was able to hear full sentences instead. Shouted angrily- venomously. 

“-it does not matter. Narcissa will listen and endure it, and so will Draco. And Draco’s a good boy. He will listen to everything I tell him and do as I say.”

His uncle. “You’re going to ruin him.”

A laugh. His father’s ugly, pleased laugh. “Good.”

_Good._

Draco stomped his feet, making it seem as if he had _just_ arrived. The voices stopped. He knocked.

(Draco felt nauseous.)

“Father?”

(Draco wanted to cry.)

( _good, good, good, good, good_ )

He waited until he heard his father say, “Come in.” from the other side, then slowly opened the door. Draco grimaced. It was time to face him. 

On the opposite end of the room his father and uncle Severus were standing side by side near one of the windows, the black curtains drawn open, a few sun rays peeking out from behind the thick, rolling clouds of an upcoming storm. His father, looking as put together and groomed as always( _he tore you apart he broke you he broke you_ ) was looking out of the window- looking at the lush greenery of their garden, and at the ungodly white peacocks roaming the fields of their manor. 

(He never liked them anyway. He didn't understand what his father saw in them- what beauty he saw in the beady, hungry eyes of those peacocks. In the _too_ white feathers of them. Neither did mother.)

While his father was with his back towards him, his uncle wasn’t. He was facing Draco, with his usual neutral expression, dark eyes, and dark, long, greasy hair that Draco used to braid when he was younger. Instead of his black robes that he wore religiously around the school he was instead wearing casual robes- well, not _robes_. But Muggle attire- A black T-shirt, jeans, leather jacket, and running shoes. It was weird seeing him dressed so _casually_ ; dressed so much like a _Muggle_. But Draco could appreciate a good outfit when he saw one, and, well, his uncle was able to rock almost anything he wore, which Draco found cool. Even if it irked his father to no end.

(And, truth be told, though he didn’t like Muggles, he had to admit they had really good fashion. Even if it was questionable at times.)

“Hello, Draco. Doing good, I hope?” There was the usual drawl to his words; one of careful consideration of his words and hidden fondness beneath. It comforted Draco. He wanted to hug him at that moment, just to get some familiar touch that wasn’t ( _breaking him, breaking him, tearing him apart at the seams, burning him down to his bones_ ) his father’s.

Draco smiled. He really hoped he would get the chance to hug his uncle before he left again. “As good as I can with the summer break ending soon,” he said, and his smile widened, “And you seem as cheery as ever, uncle. Isn’t that lovely!”

His uncle snorted. Draco grinned. “ _As cheery as ever_ , yes, so lovely, because I know what cheer is,” he drawled. Draco snickered and walked further into the room.

“Good to hear! But I think your version of cheer is different from mine, innit?” Draco shot back. “You’re so _brooding_ and dramatic, are you not? What cheer could you feel?”

Severus rolled his eyes, and he noticed the slight raise at the corners of his mouth. He was stifling a smile. Draco felt victorious in that moment. “I’ll show you _brooding_ and dramatic one day, don’t worry about it. Cheer for you is making fun of every Gryffindor you set your eyes upon at school, though, so I don’t know.”

“Cheer for you is the same as mine, then, uncle! Glorious.”

“If you really think that is glorious then you have to rethink some of your life choices, dear nephew.”

“ _Dear nephew?_ Are you really that desperate to get rid of me that you would call me-”

Father cleared his throat. Draco shut his mouth. Severus looked at father and raised his eyebrows at him.

“Something wrong, Lucius?”

Draco saw the slight tilt of his father’s head. “Nothing wrong, Severus. But I need to be alone with my son,” oh no. “We have some things we need to discuss about the upcoming year. If you will.”

Severus’ eyebrows went up higher somehow. Almost in disbelief. “And what about-”

His father looked sharply at his uncle. “There’s nothing else to talk about for now, Severus. _Leave_.”

The two stared at one another, Severus’ face adorning a frown the longer it went on, and his father’s a sneer. Draco wished he had been more serious about learning Legilimency from his uncle- then maybe he could’ve gotten a vague idea of what went on in their heads.

Severus was the one to break the eye contact, looking instead at Draco. His frown was replaced by his neutral look instantly. But Draco could see worry and apprehension in the lines of his face. In the way his eyebrows twitched just slightly upwards. Draco tried to smile at him, hoping to soothe his worries.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” Draco said. His voice wavered. “You better bake me some of your special cake or else I won’t ever talk to you again.”

His uncle barked out a laugh at that. His own smile widened. “I am not a _house elf_ , Draco. Remember that. If I have the time I might bake it, but don’t be surprised when you get poisoned by it.”

Draco laughed himself, and it felt so good. It felt so good to laugh again. It felt so good to talk with his uncle again who ( _hadn’t touched him, hadn’t fucked him, hadn’t destroyed him_ ) he adored.

He walked past him and towards the door, Draco’s eyes on him all the while, and he saw the way Severus hesitated slightly. He spoke again. “Are you sure you need me to leave _now_ , Lucius? We still have unfinished business to talk about. _Important_ business”

Hope flared in his chest. A burst of relief overcame him. Maybe-

“No, Severus, we’ve talked enough for today. We’ll continue our discussion during the weekend get-together. You can wait a few days.”

His stomach plummeted. Draco scrabbled for anything he could say- anything he could say that would have Severus stay a little longer with the two of them. But all he did was open and close his mouth like a fish, and stare at Severus’ back as he left the room and closed the door behind him.

Silence. Unbearable silence fell upon the room. Panic started to creep its ugly head around his ribs. Draco’s hands shook. He picked at his fingers again, digging his nails into his wounds, letting the sting become too much. Letting the blood start up again. Drop by drop. Drop by drop.

He didn’t turn around. He didn’t turn around when he heard his father move and sit down in his chair. He didn't turn around when he heard shuffling of papers. He didn’t turn around when-

“Draco,” he heard his father say. His voice was low and patient, almost as if he was speaking to a spooked animal. Draco felt like one. “Come here.”

He didn’t turn around. He instead moved his attention to the extravagant paintings and the wands and staffs and swords perched on the wall. To the framed moths, butterflies, and framed feathers of the peacocks that have died. To the framed moths again-

“Draco.”

A black witch moth, also known as ‘Ascalapha odorata’. Known to bring death; known as a bad omen- really depends on the area you’re in. Draco wished it had brought death to him.

“I won’t say it again.”

A Polyphemus moth, also known as ‘Antheraea polyphemus’. Named after the Polyphemus cyclop from the Greek Mythos, due to the two eyespots on its hindwings. They stared at Draco. Draco stared back.

“Come. Here.”

A cecropia moth, also known as ‘Hyalophora cecropia’. Part of the Saturniidae family- giant silk moths family- they only survive up to two weeks due to their lack of mouthparts and digestive system. Draco wished he lived for that amount himself.

His voice shook as he spoke. He had no escape. “Just a moment, father.”

“I do not have a single moment left for you. Come here, _Draco_. Don’t make this harder for yourself.”

The way his father said his name- the way it rolled off his tongue- it made Draco sick. _Don’t make this harder for yourself_ , he said. But breathing already felt so hard and blinking was getting harder, and his fingers were stinging and so were his eyes. _Don’t make this harder for yourself_ , he said.

Draco turned around slowly, moving his hands in front of him, clasping them together. Almost as if he was getting ready to pray. And there he was- sitting in his chair behind his desk, not even looking at Draco. Cane in his hands. Desk free of any scroll or quill or ink pot. Cleared up.

(Who would you pray to, anyway? Who would save _you_ , anyway? Even if you prayed, even if you screamed, nobody would come and help you. _Nobody_.)

( _good good good good good_ -)

You’d expect the chair to be some sort of grandly carved masterpiece- perhaps with silver and gold welded onto it. Perhaps carved in the likeness of a king’s throne. But it was a simple, black chair, with red cushions, two arm rests, and a long back. It looked frail and easily breakable, but Draco knew it was sturdy from the times he jumped on it as a child. The desk was the same- black and shiny, with only a red cloth covering the middle of it. Sturdy as well, and not easily breakable.

( _Perfect to be bent over and fucked and_ -)

Father tapped his cane against the desk and looked briefly at Draco, sneer on his face. “I have no patience left, Draco,” he said. Then he pushed himself and the chair away from the desk, leaving space between them. His father motioned towards the desk with his cane. “Over here.”

Draco went there without a fight. Every step towards his father brought him closer and closer to crying- he felt the harsh sting of tears in eyes worsening; he felt the way his throat was locking itself and making it hard to breathe. He stopped between his father and the desk, looking anywhere but his father. Draco tried to speak, perhaps to beg for mercy, but all that came out was a choked out whimper.

“Draco, look at me.”

The carpet under his feet was a beautiful emerald colour, with silver stripes adorning the edges of it. He remembered playing with flobberworm putty while laying on it when he was young; angering his father whenever he would accidentally get some of it stuck to it; amusing mother whenever he would smear some of it onto his father in response. He wished he could go back in time and enjoy those moments more. 

“Draco.”

He glanced over towards his father. He cleared his throat. “Yes?”

Father looked Draco up and down slowly, inspecting him, eyes lingering down(his legs? At his legs?), and nodded approvingly. “I think I’ve waited long enough,” he murmured. Then he locked eyes with Draco and said, “Bend over the desk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHHA SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER, this chapter was just getting too long for me so I wanted to break it into two. The next chapter is going to finally be the!! bad part!!! _wink wonk_
> 
> I am striving to post it tonight or tomorrow, so keep your eyes on the look out for another update before february ends :) and afterwards radio silence for some time as I get to finish an update for one of my fics(crisis friends in need if anyone is wondering _cough cough_ im so disapointed in myself for not updating it but i need that cathartic angst release <3)
> 
> ALSO!!! IF YOU WANNA GET IN CONTACT W ME U CAN TALK 2 ME ON MY TUMBLR! It's [@tired-elf-witch](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/tired-elf-witch)! im hoping to using it more now as i get back to updating my fics since its a new blog. message me or send me an ask or anything!! I'd love to hear your thoughts! love you all <3


	6. Father's office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco feels empty and cold. His father fills and warms him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NONCON CHAPTER NONCON CHAPTER NONCON CHAPTER BABY!!!  
> feedback is appreciated :] I think I’m happy w/ this one? Sure! However I know when I get to writing the next chapter I will look back on it and maybe cringe. Oh but to be a simple writer
> 
>  **this chapter includes** : noncon(kissing, grinding, anal sex), gaslighting(not sure if considered that, but putting it just in case), crying, light(?) dissociation/depersonalisation

Draco’s blood ran cold. He laughed, just on the verge of hysterical. He stopped when he saw the serious expression on father’s face. “What?” Draco asked, as if the order he was given wasn’t obvious. He asked, as if his father’s words weren’t clear. He felt like throwing up. “I’m sorry, father, but what are you talking abo-”

_Whack._ The cane hit him across his shin suddenly, the pain sharp and unforgiving, traveling like lightning bolts up his leg. His knees almost buckled down, but he held himself up and staggered back into the desk with a yelp instead, more out of shock than anything. Father grunted and said, this time terrifyingly calm,

“Did you not hear what I said, Draco? Bend. _Over-_ ” and he _whacked_ Draco again, this time across the side of his thigh, and with even more force behind it. Draco clutched the edge of the desk as if it was his last lifeline, the sting left behind even worse than the initial burst of pain, sharp pain pulsing from where the cane hit him. Draco let out a loud, terrified keen. Was he going to die? Was his father going to kill him after all of this? With no apology as well? 

Suddenly, his father got up from his chair and walked right up to him. He pressed his body against Draco’s, hips to hips and chest to chest, shoving one of his legs between Draco’s own, and leaned his head down to Draco’s ear. 

“You are going to regret this, Draco. What did I say about disobedience?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His breath was wet and hot as it hit his ear, and Draco shivered. He tried to remember all of the lessons, all of the rules, about how to obey his parents and how to be the perfect pure-blooded son they wanted, but all of it seemed to escape from his grip like mud.

Draco’s voice cracked as he spoke. “Fa-father, please. Don’t do- don’t do this. I don’t want this.” 

Father chuckled. “Are you sure about that? Because this is saying otherwise.” 

Draco felt confused, until his father pushed his hips against Draco’s. It registered to him- what his father was talking about. Draco was starting to get hard, and when his father started pushing his hips forward again, slowly starting to grind against Draco, he easily reached full hardness. More tears fell from his eyes as he blinked, staring at the shoulder in front of him, entire body shivering. Whether from the cold or the pleasure, he wasn’t sure. Draco let out a sob.

“I _don’t_ want this. I don’t. Please. Please stop. Please-” he was cut off as his father brought his (big, dexterous, warm, _dirty_ ) hands down to Draco’s arse and started to knead him through his trousers. He wasn’t able to stop himself from whimpering again, and he wasn’t able to stop his hips from bucking forward against his father’s. He felt sick.

Father slowly mouthed at Draco’s neck; leaving wet, long kisses from his ear down to his collarbone, nipping gently with every other kiss. When he reached his collarbones, he traced them with his tongue, and sucked softly at them, leaving little faint mark across them. Marking him. Claiming him. 

(Why did it feel so good?)

Draco would almost describe his father’s actions as loving- the way one would treat their lover when they were about to make love. Tender, even. 

He felt like throwing up.

(He wanted more.)

(Did he? Did he?)

(What did he want?)

( _good good good good good good good_ -)

His father kissed his way back up to his face, licking the tears falling on his cheeks, and moved over to Draco’s slack mouth which he pecked softly, hummed, pecked him again, then kissed him firmly.

Draco stayed there, unmoving but shivering, his own lips unresponsive to his father’s. He felt empty; the stream of affection from his father leaving him indifferent. Cold. 

He felt so cold. His tears felt so cold.

When it was clear Draco had no plans of kissing back he stopped and huffed, looking down at Draco and raising his eyebrows at him. Draco noticed the way his pupils were dilated and cheeks slightly flushed. His impeccable hair a tiny bit disheveled. So unlike his father it almost terrified Draco in the uncertainty it brought him. Of who his father was and what he was capable of.

“Why are you still denying yourself? You clearly want this.”

Draco bit his lip and shook his head frantically. More tears fell. A sob was ripped out of him. His chest hurt. Why did it hurt?

“I-I don’t. I don’t. I don’t want this. _Please_. Father, why are you doing this to me?”

Instead of giving him an answer he cupped Draco’s jaw tenderly, rubbing his thumb along Draco’s lower lip, and moved his other hand to Draco’s hair where it tangled its fingers in the short hair at the nape of his neck. Draco let out another sob. His lower lip wobbled against his thumb. He looked up pleadingly at his father, who only stared back.

“Father, please stop. Please. _Please stop_.”

He pressed his thumb harder down on Draco’s lip. His face was that of indifference. Unimpressed at Draco’s display of pain, though cracked from arousal; little pants coming out of him, the twitch of his hips that were pressed against Draco’s. He pushed his thumb between Draco’s lips, the intention clear. Not stopping what he had begun.

Draco inhaled sharply. 

( _Why are you still denying yourself?_ )

Draco closed his eyes. His chest ached.

Hesitantly, he opened his mouth and the thumb immediately went inside his mouth, moving along his tongue, up and up until it reached the back of Draco’s throat and he gagged against it. For a split second Draco was afraid that he was going to throw up, but the thumb retreated as fast as it came and went back to massaging his tongue. Up and down, in slow and fast circles. Along his teeth, roof of his mouth, under his tongue it moved.

Without thinking about it, Draco closed his mouth around the thumb and sucked lightly at it. His father groaned and Draco squeezed his eyes even tighter. So tight that white bursts of light exploded faintly in the darkness of his eyelids. Anything to keep the fresh wave of tears and sobs (and hatred hatred hatred disgust **disgust** ) at bay.

When Draco let go of the thumb and started retreating back, the hand in his hair tightened and shoved him forward where suddenly his father’s tongue dove inside of his mouth and started licking wherever it could reach. Draco almost bit down on it in surprise, the feeling of the slimy appendage licking the roof of his mouth making repulsion pulse deep in his chest, but all he did was let out a choked whimper and let himself go lax. It would only make it harder for himself if he tried to fight back, after all. He felt cold, despite the warmth radiating from his father. He felt tired, despite that it was barely afternoon.

Saliva dripped down his chin plenty as he let his mouth be claimed by his father, and when he finally had enough and broke the two of them apart Draco was a shivering, drooling mess, clenching his thighs down onto his father’s and clutching pathetically at the lapels of his coat. His father smiled, pleased with himself. He dove back in- this time more aggressive.

With every sweep of his tongue inside a thrust of his hips accompanied it; with every nip at Draco’s lips his fingers would scratch at Draco’s scalp and chin. Draco felt- he was- Draco was _overwhelmed_. All of his senses were overwhelmed by his father- his taste, his smell, his feel. His mouth was filled by his father’s tongue, his body was being touched and felt up by his hands, stimulating Draco and making him gasp.

Without realising, he had started reciprocating at one point. He started moving his tongue alongside his father’s. Dtarted thrusting against his father’s thigh and grinding with him. He moved one of his hands up to fathers hair as well, a sick lifeline to keep him grounded (in case his father drowned him, burned him, broke him, broke him broke him **broke him** ), where he tangled his fingers into it, and the other down to his hips. He didn’t open his eyes. He kept them squeezed shut.

(How could you enjoy something like this? How could you give in like this? How could you? How could you? How could you?)

(Was he enjoying himself? It didn’t feel like it. He felt like peeling his skin off- he felt like pulling his hair out. Gouging his eyes out. Breaking every single bone in his body. Digging into his flesh until he reached his heart and wrenched it out.)

(Disgust and hatred simmered in his gut. He was afraid what would happen when it would all boil over.)

(Was he enjoying himself?)

With a particular rough thrust from his father Draco let out a moan. Broken and meek. It seemed to catch his father’s attention, who broke their kiss and touched his forehead against Draco’s. Draco kept his eyes shut. Father spoke, hushed and gentle and sweet; a secret whispered between two lovers.

“See? That wasn’t so bad. Now be a good boy for me and bend over the desk, alright?”

Draco didn’t think twice about it. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t fight. Draco nodded, and when his father took a step back from him and untangled the two Draco turned around, opened up his blurry eyes, and slowly lowered himself over the desk, barely holding himself up on his elbows.

Funnily enough, when his eyes fell on the red tablecloth under his arms a memory flashed in his mind. He was five, or maybe six, and he was sitting on fathers lap and playing with his favourite magical block set. His father had stopped working in favour of entertaining Draco- building a small, unstable miniature version of the mansion together, and decorating the garden(the tablecloth) with his favourite putty. It had stained the cloth a bit, and his father had been mock-angry towards him, but some cuddles was all that he had needed to forgive Draco.

The stains were still there- faint, barely visible, but still there. He stared at them, as if looking at them would bring the same carefree glee from his youth when he first saw what he had done to the cloth.

His father got closer to Draco again, his hands on his hips and mouth back on his neck, leaving butterfly-soft kisses against it, moving lower and lower. The hands moved under his shirt, caressing the skin underneath, nails scratching just barely at it. Draco shivered again. He stifled a whimper.

( _You clearly want this._ )

Along the soft caress against his sides and the kisses along his body, his father brought his hips against Draco’s, moving against him in slow, hard circles, and Draco’s eyes almost rolled back from how good it felt- how good his father’s cock felt.

( _please stop please stop please stop stop stop stop stop_ )

stop

“You want this, darling. You don’t want me to stop.”

Had he said that out loud?

His father chuckled. “You’re still doing it. How cute.”

Oh.

(breaking him breaking him his father was **breaking him** )

What was he doing again?

He felt so cold. His father wasn’t warming him up.

He wished he had brought his wand with him. Then maybe he could’ve cast a warming charm on himself.

He felt so empty.

(broken broken broken broken **broken** -)

_pat pat pat pat pat pat pat_

The sound of rain hitting the windows brought Draco out of his mind. He looked out of the window and stared out- stared at the dark, thick clouds, where rain had started falling rapidly from; at the white flashes of lighting and the accompanying booms of thunder; at the way the tall trees from the forests behind their mansion swayed from the powerful wind, and the leaves that flew away from them disappeared into oblivion.

Stared at the barely visible reflection of his father unbuckling Draco’s trousers, lowering them, and gripping Draco’s hips forcefully. Bringing Draco back to what was happening to him. What his father was doing to him. His father’s fingers dug in his flesh, leaving soft, pink marks against his pale skin, dragging them down to his pants, hooking his fingers in the waistband and taking them slowly down, exposing Draco to the chill air of the room. He looked back at the tablecloth and noticed small, wet spots onto it. Right. He was crying.

(Why was it so cold?)

He yelped in surprise when something wet and cold dripped down between his cheeks. Fingers soon followed the slick trail left behind whatever was used, and they stopped just as his arsehole. Draco held his breath. He didn’t dare hope that his father would open him up and be gentle with him. He didn’t dare hope that he would be treated with kindness again.

(But there was a small, stubborn part in his head, who still had its fingers crossed and hopes up. Still believed that father would show him some sort of mercy. Would be as gentle with this as he was with the kisses.)

The fingers retreated. Then something bigger and blunt appeared instead. Draco clenched down, entire body shaking violently, and he cried out,

“ _Please._ ”

A hand cupped his face, thumb wiping the tears away. More tears fell. Draco _wailed_.

“Please, I’m begging you. Stop. _Stop_. I don’t want this. _I don’t want this, father_. Stop hurting me.”

Father leaned down back to him. He shushed Draco softly, who only cried harder. “It’s ok, love. I’m not hurting you. You want this. You _need_ this.”

He was shaking his head again, throat and nose clogged up, snot dripping down his lips. “I-I don’t- no-”

“Yes-” he pushed in, past the tight ring of muscles, “- you-” the head of his cock went in, and Draco screamed, “do.”

Draco slumped against the desk, exhaustion overtaking him, hips held up by both of father’s hands now, and screamed again, voice hoarse from all of the crying. How could he want this? How could he _need_ this? He didn’t. He didn’t. He didn’t. He-

He closed his eyes tightly, clenched his teeth through his sobs, and got ready for the painful stretch of his cock. He got ready to be split in half and hurt and hurt and hurt and-

But. But.

Instead of continuing to push in his- father stopped. And waited. He waited for god knows how long- he waited until Draco stopped shaking; until Draco stopped violently sobbing. He waited until Draco loosened just enough for him to start pushing in his cock further.

Draco began trembling anew at the almost-new sensations. Instead of the rough, painful drag of his cock inside him it was now smooth and filling him up. The same sting of pain from not being opened up beforehand came as father pushed in further, but when Draco hissed out from it, when Draco prepared himself to be filled up painfully- he stopped again. Then waited until Draco’s laboured breathing calmed just a bit down and pushed in again.

Draco felt full. So full. _Satisfyingly_ full. Almost… warm. Before, he wasn’t able to truly take in the fullness that really came with his father- the unpleasant dry thrusts and violent behaviour dampening every sensation when his prostate or cock weren’t touched. Now, however, he could feel _all_ of his father, truly get a feel of how his cock felt inside of him. And, well, it felt good. Too good. When he bottomed out Draco felt just a tiny bit warm.

(He felt sick with himself.)

( _You clearly want this_.)

He clearly wanted this.

(Didn’t he?)

It all seemed to be done in the blink of an eye. His father had started to thrust gently into him, almost like he was letting Draco accommodate to the intrusion for once. He was slow with his movements, fucking deep and slow into Draco, making him gasp and writhe underneath him.

“Ah! Please- _ah_ \- please.”

“Please what, dear? Use your words.”

“Ple-please sto- _ah! Faster_ -” 

His father had complied and had started fucking into Draco then. All of the soft caresses, words, and all of the considerate thrusts were replaced with his mouth biting harshly at Draco’s neck, his hands scratching and leaving red crescents and trails on his thighs and hips, and his hips meeting Draco’s own in hard, fast thrusts, leaving Draco breathless and panting and whining pittifuly. He felt like he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe.

_You’re going to ruin him._

Draco had bit down on his own arm, muffling all of the sounds that tried to escape him; all of the sounds that would prove to his father and himself that he was enjoying it. He bit down until the pain became unbearable, drenching his sleeve with saliva, and until it felt like he had somehow teared through his skin. The metallic taste of blood had appeared, though lessened by the cloth of his shirt.

(blood blood blood blood everywhere blood on your hands on you on you on you)

Draco was the one who ended up cumming first. Father had driven his cock into Draco _just_ right, making Draco keen and writhe in pleasure from it all, and wrapped his hand around Draco’s leaking cock. “I think you want to cum Draco, don’t you?” he had asked.

And Draco had nodded, desperate to find release. To have this be over with. To be alone again. 

He hadn’t asked him for a proper response- he hadn’t said anything after that. His father only hummed approvingly and started to jerk Draco off until he whimpered, high and long, and had spilt across his hand in bursts. 

He started shaking again after that- father not letting up with the thrusts, only becoming erratic the longer he went on. Draco felt like all of the energy he had had been sapped entirely from him, a thick fog overtaking him, mind hazy and body feeling like it was made of static. Out of putrid, dark magic. He was burning up from the inside. He was burning up. _He was burning up-_

With one last moan his father came inside of Draco, panting harshly and trembling. Draco was afraid his father was going to stay on top of him, crush him under his weight and unravel him further, but with one last kiss against Draco’s throat he pulled out and stepped away from him. Draco stared at the old putty stains on the tablecloth. He almost started crying again.

A few taps on his hip made him turn his head around. Father was back to his old self- composed and unbothered, fully clothed and prim. “I think we’re done here,” he said. “You’re dismissed. Dinner will be served in your room. You’ve been skipping meals, I’ve noticed.” 

And with a flick of his wand the door opened to the dark, cold hallway. He held eye contact with Draco.

Draco blinked back, the words sluggishly registering to his brain. He felt like he was engulfed in honey, but all of the sweetness that came with it was replaced with the acrid, repulsive taste of disgust. Of pain. The fog worsened. When he realised what his father had said, he nodded slowly. And then nodded again, got up on shaking legs and picked up his pants and trousers, put them back on with frantic, trembling motions, and walked to the door, limping and shaking all the while. He stopped at the threshold. He turned around towards his father, hoping to catch his eyes one last time.

But his father wasn’t looking at him anymore. Or facing him for that matter. He was back at staring out of the window over the green fields of the manor. Posture relaxed, not a single hair out of place any more. Composed. Happy. Sky still covered with the same grey, writhing clouds of storm. Rain pounding against the windows. All the same.

He left the room swiftly after that. His eyes burning, entire body aching, and feeling cold again. 

-

Draco stumbled into his room feeling empty. 

His chest hurt. 

He felt hollow. 

So hollow.

He was so tired.

All of that warmth- the feeling of burning up from inside; from his father’s body- all of it had dissipated in an instant. All of it feeling like it had never happened in the first place. All of it ( _broken broken broken shattered and destroyed_ ) gone.

He wasn’t able to reach his bed in time before his legs gave out underneath him. He fell on his knees, entire body trembling ( _aching aching, burning, broken, **broken**_ ), and all he did was lay down on his side and wrap his arms around himself. He was tired. So tired.

He closed his eyes. 

He fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one day i will master the ways of writing the fucking part better and its over for Draco. wish i had more for the whole Lucius Fuckin Him part but thats all ive got. but also haha draco being miserable goes brr  
> 😭 I would love to say “size queen draco rights” because that is my JAM, but. But hes getting nonconed by his father. Rip
> 
> also get ready for a month or two or more of no updates baby, im gonna be busy w other fics and projects of mine. unless i get into a really bad spot mentally, then youre getting a new update LMFAO
> 
> next chapter: ??? um maybe some more self hatred. Maybe another character is gonna make a brief appearance :] pog
> 
> TALK TO ME ON TUMBLR [@tired-elf-witch](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/tired-elf-witch) I don’t bite like Lucius!!! unless you want me to ;))))
> 
> have a great day/night!

**Author's Note:**

> yeehaw, draco is in for a bad time lol


End file.
